Two Sides of the Same Psychic
by moondragon23
Summary: When the FBI is called in on the latest case, Shawn is determined to be involved. He doesn't know this case will involve secrets from his time away from Santa Barbara. A time he had hoped to forget. And will force him to reveal his biggest secret. Bigger than being a fake psychic. A secret, once told, that will change his life forever.
1. The Truth Revealed and Then Another

**This story is for Redwolffclaw for being the best beta reader and putting up with my constant babbling about my stories. I hope you like it.**

**It takes place near the end of season 7 before Trout arrives. So spoilers for all season.**

**I'm always interested in what happened to Shawn in those years he spent away from Santa Barbara. This is my second story that addresses something that happened during that time. I'm going to try to keep it Psych-like in the beginning, but as the story progresses it will get darker.**

**This chapter references the movie ****_Now You See Me._**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Shawn walked into the police station, Gus right behind him. He immediately looked around for his favorite detective and her grumpy partner. He hadn't seen much of either detective in the past week, despite the fact he was living with one of them. He let out a disappointed sigh when it was clear they were absent once again. He stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move.

"You better be right, Shawn," Gus grumbled, looking at Shawn skeptically. "I'm missing work for this."

"Of course I'm right," Shawn replied. "Something big is going on and we need to find out what it is." He headed over to Lassiter's desk. After a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching him, he started riffling through the files on his desk.

"Explain again how you know this?" Gus asked, reluctantly taking up the role of lookout.

Not finding anything in the files, Shawn sat and started going through the desk. "First, Jules has barely been home all week. Twice she left in the middle of the night after getting a call from the chief. All she would tell me was it was about a case but she wouldn't tell me what."

Digging around in the back of a drawer, he pulled out a hideous blue and fuchsia striped tie. "Dude, I think my eyes are burning," he said, holding up the tie for Gus to see. Shaking his head, he put the tie in his back pocket.

"He's going to notice it's missing," Gus said. "Put it back."

"I can't Gus," Shawn said seriously. "That tie is a monstrosity. For the good of the human race I am honor bound to confiscate it and see it is properly destroyed. I think burning it and scattering the ashes in a cemetery at midnight should do the trick."

Gus rolled his eyes as Shawn continued searching the detective's desk. "What does that have to do with the case?"

"Nothing," Shawn said. "Unless it was a crime of fashion, in which case we definitely know who the guilty party is."

"Well, I don't think Juliet working on a case without you automatically means something big is going on," Gus said, addressing the original topic of conversation.

"It's not just Jules," Shawn said. "Lassie's been acting strange too. He's been completely ignoring my insults all week. He only does that when he's in a good mood. Unless something's changed drastically between him and Marlowe, that means it's work related. Add in Jules ditching me and it means the two of them are working on some kind of top secret case." Closing the last drawer with a sigh, he turned the chair to face Gus.

"Just because they're working on a case without you doesn't mean it's top secret," Gus pointed out.

"Which brings us to our third point," Shawn said. "The FBI are in town. If that doesn't scream big, top secret case, I don't know what does." Leaning back in the chair, he propped his feet on Lassiter's desk, hands folded over his stomach.

"Wait, what makes you think the FBI are in town?" Gus asked.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Dude, the big black SUV parked outside with government plates from Arizona? Could they be anymore conspicuous?" Looking over Gus's shoulder, he nodded. "Speaking of which. . ."

Gus turned as Lassiter and Juliet entered the building, followed by two men wearing black suits.

Shawn took a moment to study them. The closer man was tall and lanky, topping Lassiter by a couple of inches. He was clean-shaven with blonde hair and appeared to be a few years younger than Shawn. The other man was shorter, with broad shoulders and dark hair. Shawn wasn't able to see his face but something about the man seemed familiar.

Turning his attention back to the detectives, Shawn could tell the moment Lassiter spotted him. He stiffened, then turned and said something quietly to Juliet. She looked over at them and rolled her eyes. Looking at her partner, Shawn saw her mouth the words "be nice" before leading the agents towards Vick's office. Lassiter separated from the group and headed towards them.

"Hey Lassie. What's up?" Shawn said, smirking up at the detective.

Lassiter glared at him. "Get out of my chair." He winced as Shawn swung his feet off the desk, coming perilously close to knocking over his coffee mug. "I know why you're here and you can forget it."

"Hear that Gus," Shawn said, bouncing out of the chair to stand in front of the detective. "Lassie thinks he's the psychic now. Quick, what am I thinking?" He scrunched his face up, as if he was thinking hard about something.

Lassiter ignored the taunts. "We don't need you on this case," he said.

"And what case would that be?" Shawn pondered. "The mysterious one you and Jules have been working on all week without telling anyone? The one the FBI agents in Vick's office are here to discuss?" Lassiter's eyes narrowed and Shawn knew his guess had been correct. He gave Gus an 'I told you so' look before continuing. "It must be something big if the feds are involved. So what is it? Are you trying to track down a group of magicians after they mysteriously robbed a bank during a show?"

"That's the plot to _Now You See Me_, Shawn," Gus said.

"Oh yeah," Shawn said. "You know, I never really got the end of that movie."

"This case doesn't concern you," Lassiter said, cutting through their chatter. "Go home. Now."

"Ooo, Gus, he's using his stern voice," Shawn said excitedly. "That must mean it's a really big case." He could see that Lassiter was grinding his teeth, a sure sign he was pissed off. Finally. Usually the detective was easier to rile up. Any longer and he was going to think he was losing his touch. "Come on Lassie. Just a little, teensy hint? You know I'm going to find out eventually." He fluttered his eyelashes, looking pleading up at the detective.

"Spencer," Lassiter growled.

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the chief. "Detective?" she called, standing in the doorway to her office. "Any time now."

Lassiter took a deep breath, glaring at the two of them, before turning to the chief. "I'll be right there." He took another deep breath as he turned back to them. Some of the anger had faded but Lassiter was still watching them carefully.

"You two," Lassiter said, making eye contact to be sure he had their attention, "stay out of this. Trust me, you don't want to be part of this case." Shawn raised his eyebrows at Lassiter's grim tone, exchanging a surprised look with Gus. That didn't sound so much like a threat as a warning. Like Lassiter was trying to protect them from something. Of course, this only made Shawn more determined to find out what the case was about.

Before he could ask anything else, Lassiter turned and walked over to the chief. They both entered her office, closing the door behind them. Soon after, the blinds were closed on the windows, blocking all view of the mysterious meeting.

"Maybe we should listen to him," Gus said uneasily.

"Nah," Shawn said. "He just doesn't want to share all the glory." He walked over to the office, trying to peer through the blinds at what was going on inside. "We need to get into that meeting."

"How?" Gus asked. "It's not like Vick is suddenly going to change her mind and let us in. And we can't see anything with the blinds closed."

Shawn stood thinking for a minute. He had broken into plenty of meetings before. He just needed to select a plan that would match this situation. Remembering a meeting in a hotel about a stolen ring, a slow smile slid across his face. Shawn turned to a suddenly nervous looking Gus.

"I have an idea."

* * *

There were no convenient large air vent openings over the chief's office. However, the station did have a drop ceiling, with enough space for the two men to crawl through. They found a supply closet near the office and, after some jostling and swearing, they managed to get up into the ceiling. Keeping to the support beams, they moved carefully until they were over the office. Signaling to Gus to keep quiet, Shawn carefully made a small hole in one of the ceiling tiles. Carefully putting a foot on a nearby ceiling tile to keep his balance, he leaned down to look through the hole.

The chief was sitting at her desk. The two FBI agents were standing in front of her desk to the right. Lassiter and Juliet were standing to the left. Shawn was situated almost directly over the agents, leaving him unable to see their faces. But judging by the looks of everyone else in the room, things weren't going well. Lassiter was always tense, but Juliet appeared equally uncomfortable with the meeting. From what he could see the two FBI agents were displaying the same signs of discomfort. The two groups were also making sure to keep a safe distance between them.

"We'll need all the files you have on Frank Cisco," the lanky agent said. For simplicities sake, Shawn decided to refer to him as Stretch.

"I believe Cisco is our lead," Lassiter said pointedly.

"And we thank you for your effort, _detective_," Stretch said haughtily. "But we can take it from here."

"If you think you can just come in here and take over – " Lassiter said, getting heated.

"Gentlemen, enough," Vick said, cutting him off. She threw Lassiter a hard look before turning to the agents. "I'm sure we can reach a compromise. After all, this is a _joint_ effort." She arched an eyebrow, waiting for the agents to respond.

"I have no problem with the detectives sitting in on the interview," the heavy-set agent said. Shawn frowned thoughtfully. His voice sounded familiar.

"What's going on?" Gus whispered, interrupting his thoughts.

"The FBI are trying to take over the case," Shawn said quietly, looking over at Gus. "Lassie's not happy about it."

"I bet," Gus muttered. "Let me see." He shifted forward, causing Shawn to lean more on the flimsy ceiling tile to keep his balance. It started to crack underneath him.

"Dude, be careful," Shawn hissed. "These tiles won't hold much weight."

"Then move over," Gus said hissed back.

Shawn tried to shift out of the way, inadvertently putting more weight on the stressed tile. It gave a loud crack.

Both men froze. Shawn gave Gus a worried look before carefully leaning down and peering into the room again. The occupants had looked up at the sound, trying to find out where it came from. "What was that?" Vick asked.

"I think it came from the ceiling," Juliet said, moving to stand directly underneath Shawn and Gus. She looked up and pointed towards them. "One of the tiles is cracked."

Vick stood up as Lassiter and the two agents came over to stand next to Juliet. They all peered up where she was pointing. This gave Shawn his first look at the face of the heavy-set agent.

Crap.

"We have to move," Shawn whispered urgently to Gus.

"No," Gus argued. "They're already suspicious. We should stay put and keep quiet. Besides, they don't know anyone's up here."

"Yeah, cause ceiling tiles mysteriously break all the time," Shawn said, rolling his eyes. "Gus, trust me, we have to go." He waved down at the room. "He's going to figure out what's going on any second now."

"He who?" Gus asked, confused.

"There's someone up there," the heavy-set agent said.

"See?" Shawn said, getting anxious. "We have to leave. Now." He tried to edge around Gus and head back to the supply closet.

"Shawn, watch it!" Gus hissed as he was forced to lean on a tile. It started to bend precariously under his weight.

"No time," Shawn said. Gus pushed at him, trying to maintain his balance. Unfortunately, this caused Shawn to lose his own balance.

The tile held for a second, before giving way with a loud crack. The people in the room had just enough time to jump out of the way before the tile, and Shawn, fell to the floor.

He landed on his back, hitting his head hard against the floor. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth against the pain shooting along his spine and into his skull. The fall had knocked the wind out of him and it took him a few seconds to remember how to breath. When he did he immediately when into a coughing fit as he breathed in all the dust in the air. Coughing just increased the throbbing in his head and he struggled to catch his breath.

He felt someone kneel down next to him, grabbing his hand. "Deep breaths," said a soft, female voice. Juliet. She kept her voice steady but Shawn could feel her concern in the tight grip she had on his hand. "Come on, in," he heard her take a deep breath in, "then out." She let her breath out slowly. "Work with me Shawn." Following her lead, they were able to get his breathing under control.

Shawn lay there with his eyes closed a few extra seconds, taking inventory. The pain had receded slightly in his back and head, allowing all the other aches to come through. He didn't think anything was broken, but he bet he would have some spectacular bruises.

"Is he alright?" an unfamilar voice asked. It took Shawn a moment to place it as the voice of the lanky FBI agent, Stretch. He stifled a groan. Right, he had just landed in the middle of the chief's secret meeting. He was in so much trouble. He considered just continuing to lay there playing dead, but he didn't want to worry Juliet. Figuring it was time to face the music, he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Juliet's worried face looking down at him. Behind her he could see the other occupants of the room. Lassiter and Stretch looked angry. Vick's face showed a mix of equal parts anger and concern. The heavy-set agent just looked amused. _McKenna, _Shawn thought, remembering the agent's name.

He looked again at Juliet and tried to give her a smile, but it turned into more of a grimace as pain shot through his skull. "Shawn?" she asked quietly.

He needed to say something witty, something to reassure her. "Ow."

"Are you ok?" she asked, worry clouding her features.

"No," he groaned. "Kiss it and make it better?" This time he was able to give her a small smile. He could see her relief at his teasing. "Maybe later," she said quietly.

He heard a snort from up above him. Looking at the ceiling, he saw Gus peering down through the broken tile. "Traitor," he muttered.

Vick came to stand next to Shawn, looking up at the ceiling as well. "Mr. Guster," she said, seeming unsurprised to see him there, "can you make it down safely?"

"I think so, Chief," Gus said uncertainly.

"Good," Vick said curtly. "Then I expect to see you shortly."

Gus swallowed and nodded. He started to make his way carefully across the ceiling as the group turned their attention back to Shawn.

"Can you get up?" Juliet asked.

"I think so," Shawn said. She stood up and helped pull him to his feet. The room spun sickeningly for a moment, then settled.

Lassiter wasted no time in laying into him. "What the hell were you doing up there Spencer?" he yelled the moment Shawn was steady on his feet.

"I think it's obvious, detective," interrupted McKenna. He looked at Shawn with a grin. "He wanted to know what we were discussing, so he found a way to spy on us. It wouldn't be the first time." He sighed, shaking his head. "Of all the ways I thought I would see you again, falling through the ceiling did not cross my mind."

Shawn shrugged uncomfortably. "You know how I like to make an entrance." He could see the curious glances Lassiter, Juliet, and the chief were giving him. He needed to change the topic, distract everyone, before they started asking too many questions.

Lassiter looked suspiciously between Shawn and the agent. "Do you know him?"

"Don't look so surprised Lassie," Shawn jumped in before the agent could answer. "I met loads of people while traveling the country. I was bound to run into one of them again someday." He shot McKenna a look, trying to tell him to keep quiet.

Apparently he didn't get the hint. "Spencer and I used to work together at the bureau."

Lassiter crossed his arms. "What, he sold his fake psychic schtick to you too?"

Panicking, Shawn jumped in between them. The room spun again at the quick movement and he closed his eyes momentarily against the dizziness. He probably imagined the flash of concern he saw on Lassiter's face. "It doesn't matter what I did then," he scoffed, trying to keep his tone light. "Shouldn't we be discussing the fact I just fell into your super secret meeting?"

Juliet raised an eyebrow. He could see her concern turning to suspicion. "Shawn, what's going on?" she asked.

Shawn avoided her gaze, looking around the room. The chief and Lassiter were looking at him suspiciously. Apparently they weren't buying his act either. McKenna was looking back and forth between the cops and Shawn in confusion. As for Stretch. . .

"You're the Fox," he said suddenly. The three cops turned to look at him. "I thought I recognized you. I took one of your seminars at Quantico."

Their eyes swung back to Shawn. "Summer gig. I needed the money," he explained unconvincingly. Lassiter and Juliet were giving him identical narrow eyed looks, which was incredibly creepy. However, he could see the truth dawning in the chief's eyes. He looked away, hoping desperately they would drop it there.

"You let a psychic teach at Quantico?" Lassiter asked mockingly. As if said psychic didn't solve a case for him at least once a week.

McKenna snorted. "Psychic? He's no psychic. Just a damn good investigator."

Lassiter and Vick shared a quick look. The detective seemed almost pleased. He had been waiting for this day for seven years, after all. Shawn didn't care. Judging by the look on Vick's face, an even bigger secret was about to be revealed.

"What exactly was Shawn's position at the bureau?" Vick asked, the one topic he had been desperately hoping to avoid. He saw Lassiter and Juliet looking attentively at McKenna waiting for his answer. His stomach dropped as he realized there was no avoiding this now.

McKenna looked at Shawn in confusion. "He didn't tell you?" he asked in surprised. Turning to Vick, he uttered the words that would change Shawn's life forever.

"Spencer was an FBI agent."

* * *

**I don't know how quickly I'll be able to update this story but I'll try my best. I have already started writing chapter 2.**

**Let me know what you think. Reviews definitely speed up the writing process.**


	2. About That Psychic Thing

**I had a really busy week but all the reviews pushed me to get this chapter done for you guys. I'll try to keep up with the weekly updates, but I have some holiday stories coming up which will take priority if I get too far behind.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

Time froze. Shawn could feel Lassiter, Juliet, and the chief staring at him. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He had kept this secret for years, kept it from everyone but Gus. He had tried his hardest to pretend that part of his life never happened.

And now his secret was out.

"Shawn?" Juliet asked, voice cold.

He slowly looked up and met Juliet's gaze. "Surprise?" he asked hesitantly. Her eyes narrowed angrily, but he could see the pain she was trying to hide.

After she had found out he wasn't psychic, he had promised her no more secrets, no more lies. He had never said outright he _wasn't_ a government agent but he had kept that part of his life hidden from her. A lie of omission, this time, but still a lie.

He looked away, unable to stand her accusing look.

"This is bullshit," Lassiter said. "There is no way Spencer was an agent."

"Are you calling me a liar detective?" McKenna asked, crossing his arms. However, he sounded more amused than angry.

"I've worked with the man for seven years." Lassiter snorted. "If you can call it working. He rarely shows up before noon, he disrupts every crime scene he goes to, and half the time he accuses the wrong person. So excuse me if I don't see how that man managed to become an agent." Lassiter crossed his own arms, staring at McKenna.

"Gee, Lassie, way to kick a guy when he's down," Shawn muttered. The detective was always good at pouring salt on an open wound. The fact that what he said was true didn't help. "Why don't you make fun of my hair too."

Lassiter didn't even glance at him. He just continued to stare down McKenna.

"I can assure you, Spencer was an agent," McKenna said.

"Then why didn't it come up in any of the background checks I've run?" Lassiter asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It didn't?" McKenna asked in surprise. He turned to look at Shawn. "Care to explain, Spencer?"

"I plead the first," Shawn said quickly.

"The freedom of speech?" Stretch asked, perplexed.

"Exactly," Shawn said. "And with my freedom I choose to use my speech to address this disturbing stalking behavior of Detective Lassiter. I can understand one background check, especially since he was planning to arrest me. But multiple?" He shook his head. "Though I am flattered by the attention."

"Cut the crap, Shawn, and answer the question," Juliet snapped.

Shawn winced at her sharp tone. Putting the jokes aside, he opted for a half truth instead. "I don't know how the information was changed." After all, _he_ didn't know computers nearly well enough to pull something like that off, let alone understand how it was done. That's what Miles was for.

"So you have no idea why record of your time with the bureau mysteriously vanished?" McKenna pressed, eyeing Shawn carefully. He seemed to suspect Shawn knew more than he was saying.

"Maybe it never happened," he suggested. "Maybe you were under the effects of a hallucinogenic drug and you just thought I was an agent." He tried to sound casual, as if that kind of thing happened every day.

"But I remember seeing you," Stretch said.

"Him, too," Shawn said. "And anyone else who claims to have worked with me."

"So you're saying someone drugged half the FBI into believing you were an agent," McKenna said skeptically. "Even for you, that's insane."

"Welcome to my world," muttered Lassiter.

"Do you have a better explanation?" Shawn challenged. He knew it was a mistake the second he said it. He rubbed his head, blaming the throbbing headache.

"Yes," McKenna answered, looking pleased Shawn had walked right into his verbal trap. "Someone hacked into your file and changed the record." He stared at Shawn, waiting for his answer.

"Now, why would someone want to do that?" Shawn said, meeting McKenna's stare. He tried to hide his nervousness and show only a cool, calm exterior.

"That is the question, isn't it, Spencer," McKenna replied. Something in his voice told Shawn he had a guess to the answer.

"Makes sense," Lassiter said. Shawn looked at him, glad for a reason to end the impromptu staring contest. "We already know he's a liar. Speaking of which." He looked over at the chief. "I believe earlier we heard proof that Spencer was defrauding the police department."

Vick nodded slowly, face unreadable. "I agree, detective."

Shawn swallowed nervously. He had been hoping everyone would be too focused on the FBI agent thing and not notice the fact he had been lying to the police for years. Though he shouldn't be surprised Lassiter had. The man had been trying to prove he was a fraud since the day they met, looking for any excuse to arrest him. Well, now he had one.

"Hold on," Shawn said. "You believe him when he says I'm not psychic but not when he says I was an agent? Isn't that a double standard?" He hoped nobody else had heard the slight tremor in his voice from panic.

"I never believed you were psychic," Lassiter said, a smug smiling spreading over his face. "Now I know for sure."

"Detective, I can't allow you to arrest Spencer," McKenna said.

'Thank you,' Shawn mouthed up to the heavens. The FBI would step in and he would be saved from spending the next 20 years in a small cell with a guy named Tank.

Of course, he forgot to take into account Detective Lassiter's stubbornness.

Lassiter's smile transformed into a familiar frown. "On what grounds?" he asked indignantly.

"He was a federal agent and we could use his help in this investigation," McKenna said.

"Well, until you can prove he's an agent, he's mine," Lassiter said flatly.

"You're making a mistake," McKenna said sharply.

"No, I think I'm finally correcting one," Lassiter said.

"You'll regret this," McKenna warned.

Lassiter took a step closer to him. "Was that a threat?" he asked, voice dropping dangerously.

"What do you think?" McKenna said, eyes narrowed.

Shawn, who had been following the conversation closely as it pertained directly to his future, took a couple steps back. He didn't want to be in between them when the punches started to fly.

He wasn't the only one to notice.

"Gentleman! Enough!" Vick said loudly.

Both men jumped, apparently having forgotten she was even in the room. "Arguing is not going to accomplish anything. You both need to calm down while we figure this out." She glared at the two of them until they both took a couple steps back.

Shawn almost grinned, seeing such a petite woman ordering around the two men, until Vick glanced over at him. The pity on her face before she turned away caused his stomach to drop. He had avoided charges before, but it looked like his luck was running out.

"Agent McKenna," Vick said. "Can you provide proof that Spencer was indeed at one time an agent?"

"Yes ma'am," McKenna said.

"Good," she said. She turned to Shawn. "Spencer, we're going to have to take you into custody while we straighten things out." She nodded to Lassiter, who pulled out his handcuffs.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," Lassiter told Shawn.

"Chief, you can't be serious!" Shawn exclaimed.

"It will be easier if you cooperate," Vick said quietly.

Lassiter turned Shawn around roughly and grabbed his hands. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time," he said with satisfaction as he closed the handcuffs around Shawn's wrists. Shawn tuned him out as Lassiter started reciting his rights.

"Chief, are you sure you want to do this?" Juliet asked. Shawn shot her a grateful look but she refused to acknowledge him. So she was still mad, despite defending him.

"It's out of my hands, O'Hara," Vick said. "If Spencer has indeed been lying to the department I have to look into it."

"Don't worry Shawn," McKenna said, patting him on the shoulder. "We'll straighten this out." He turned to Stretch. "Matthews?"

"I'm on it," Stretch said, pulling out his phone. The two agents headed out of the room, nearly running into Gus as he walked in.

"Gus!" Shawn exclaimed. "It's about time!"

Gus stopped short, taking in the grim faces of everyone in the room. "What's going on?" he asked warily.

Vick sighed. "It seems Shawn was once an FBI agent."

"What!" Gus said, with obvious fake surprise. "I mean, gosh, really? I never would have thought that."

Shawn rolled his eyes. Gus couldn't lie to save his life.

"How long have you known, Gus?" Juliet asked sharply.

Gus shifted uncomfortably. "Well, uh. . ."

"Guster probably knew the minute Spencer decided to apply," Lassiter said. "The two of them are practically joined at the hip." He looked at Gus speculatively. "Makes you wonder what other secrets he was helping Spencer to hide."

"Secrets?" Gus asked with a squeak. He looked over at Shawn, his eyes widening when he finally noticed that his friend was in handcuffs.

"It's not like I tell Gus everything," Shawn said quickly. "There are plenty of things about me he doesn't know. Right Gus?" He gave Gus a hard look, hoping he could hold it together and stay quite. He didn't want his friend charged as an accomplice.

"Right," Lassiter said slowly, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. "Guster, we're not charging you with anything yet but I would advise you against leaving town." He grabbed a hold of Shawn's arm. "Let's go Spencer."

"Chief, you can't let him do this," Gus begged.

"I'm sorry, Guster, but fraud is a criminal offense ," Vick said. "I would suggest finding a lawyer."

Lassiter led Shawn out of the room and down towards booking. Halfway there, he gave Shawn a calculated shove. Already off balance from his head injury, he stumbled and nearly fell. Lassiter had to act quickly to catch him before he fell. Concern and guilt flashed across his face before hidden behind a smug smile. "Careful, Spencer. Wouldn't want to trip," Lassiter said rather loudly as he pulled Shawn back to his feet.

Shawn ground his teeth. He knew Lassiter had staged that little stunt to deliberately call attention to them. He wanted everyone to see Shawn being led off in handcuffs. Already Shawn could hear the whispering starting up behind him. At least he had seemed guilty about almost knocking Shawn to the floor, if only for a second.

"Shawn!"

Gus came hurrying out of the chief's office. He put himself in front of Shawn and Lassiter, stopping them. "Lassiter, please don't do this."

"Out of the way Guster," Lassiter said, attempting to move around the man.

Gus jumped in front of him again. "He's helped put away dozens of criminals. Doesn't that count for something."

"He still broke the law," Lassiter said. "So unless you want to join him in jail on an obstruction charge, move."

Gus swallowed nervously. "No."

Shawn winced as Lassiter's grip tightened on his arm in anger. "Excuse me?" Lassiter asked in a steely voice. Shawn knew he had to diffuse the situation fast if he didn't want Gus in a neighboring cell.

"Let me talk to him," Shawn said. "Alone."

"Absolutely not," Lassiter said.

"I get a phone call, right?" Shawn asked. "Consider this it."

Lassiter sighed with exasperation. "You have two minutes." He let go of Shawn's arm and stepped back a few steps to give them some privacy. He obviously wasn't worried about Shawn escaping in the middle of the police station. Good thing that wasn't the plan.

"Gus, getting yourself arrested is not going to help anything," Shawn said quietly.

"I can't let you do this alone," Gus said. "I lied just as much as you did. And it's just plain wrong to arrest you after all the good you did."

"Try to convince Lassiter of that," Shawn said. Gus grimaced, seeing the futility of that argument. "But if you want to help, there is something you can do."

"Name it," Gus said immediately.

"Bottom left hand drawer of my desk, in the back behind the box of ping pong balls, there's a small black bag." Shawn took a deep breath. He had hoped to never need the contents of that bag again, but it looked like he didn't have any choice. "There should be a slip of paper on top. Call it and tell the person who answers 'The rooster crows at the pineapple moon.' Then bring the bag here. Got it?"

If Gus was thought the directions were strange, he didn't show it. "Yeah, I got."

"Time's up!" Lassiter said. He walked back over and grabbed Shawn's arm again. "Let's move. We've wasted enough time already."

"Don't worry Gus," Shawn called behind him as Lassiter led him away. "It'll be fine."

He was glad Gus couldn't see his face. Otherwise, he would know Shawn was lying.

* * *

**I had to let Lassiter arrest Shawn. He's been wanting to do so for years. Though he may not be as happy about it as he seems. . .**


	3. Some Answers, More Questions

**Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter to you. The Halloween story I wrote (which is finished now; you should check it out if you haven't already) took longer to finish than I thought. Then I had some stuff going on in my personal life that got in the way.**

**Also, its hard to get Shawn and Carlton to talk civilly to each other without the use of alcohol. On the plus side, it made the chapter run longer for you guys.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

Carlton stood outside of Interrogation Room A. Inside sat Shawn Spencer, waiting to be questioned. He had been wanting to arrest Spencer on something for years now, but the 'psychic' had always managed to weasel his way out of whatever charges were held against him in the past. Even now there was a good chance the FBI would grant him a temporary reprieve at the very least, if not getting the charges dropped completely. He'd have to take advantage of this situation while he could.

Through the window in the door he could just make out the fake psychic. He was leaning back in a chair, feet propped up on the table. It was remarkable similar to the relaxed pose he had had sitting at Carlton's desk earlier in the day.

Except for the handcuffs. He was surprised Spencer hadn't slipped out of them already.

Carlton sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He should be enjoying this moment, and he was, a little. Mostly, he felt unsettled. Somehow over the years, Spencer had grown from a nuisance to a grudgingly respected colleague. Hell, maybe even a friend, though he would never admit that out loud. He was actually feeling a little guilty for putting him in there.

He shook his head. Whatever his personal feelings towards Spencer, he still broke the law. His devotion to justice came before everything else, even Marlowe, and certainly before Spencer. It was his job now to find out the details of the crime. He just needed to treat this like any other interrogation; treat Spencer like any other suspect.

He looked back inside the room. Spencer had his eyes closed and appeared to be taking a nap.

Who was he kidding? The man could turn even the most straightforward interrogation on its head by his presence alone. It was going to be like pulling teeth to get any answers out of him.

Bracing himself for the battle ahead, he opened the door and entered the room.

Spencer smiled as Carlton approached him. "About time, Lassie. I thought you would have been in here an hour ago, demanding answers." He opened his eyes and smirked at the detective. "Unless you were letting me stew in my own thoughts in the hopes I would break down and confess. Nice try, but it ain't gonna happen."

"I don't need you to," Carlton said, stopping next to the table. "McKenna's statement is enough to open a full investigation. I'm sure we'll find all the proof we need once we start looking into your past case files." He pulled up a chair and sat down across from Spencer. "Or we could just talk to Guster. I doubt he would hold out long under interrogation."

Mentioning his friend seemed to finally get Spencer to take this seriously. He swung his legs off the table and sat up to look at Carlton. "I told you Gus had nothing to do with this."

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," Carlton retorted. "Guster has been involved in every case since you started working for the department, as well as being a partner in your little 'business.' He had to have known you were a fake from the start, making him culpable as well." It was a shame, really. Despite the obvious flaw of being Spencer's friend, Guster was a decent guy. He was doing well before he got caught up in this psychic mumbo jumbo.

"You know how Gus believes in all that supernatural stuff. He refuses to cross the plane of the mummy room and he gave Jules silver bullets when we were tracking down that guy who thought he was a werewolf. Maybe he believed I really was psychic too," Spencer said insisted. "Besides, everybody else did."

"I never believed any of it. I knew you were faking it from the start," Carlton said with pride.

"Yes, the big bad detective was finally right about something. Let's all give him a medal to commemorate this rare event," Spencer said mockingly. Carlton narrowed his eyes as he glared at the younger man, feelings of guilt quickly being replaced by anger.

Spencer seemed to realize pissing off Carlton may not be the best approach, because he abruptly changed the subject. "My point is, you have no proof Gus knows anything, so there's no need to pull him in here for questioning."

It was admirable how he was sticking up for his friend. Carlton had to give him that. "If you answer my questions, I won't have to," he said.

Spencer sunk back in his chair with a sigh. "I bet your loving this. You've been wanting to get me in handcuffs for years and, well." He held up his hands, shaking the cuffs so they rattled.

"I won't lie, I have fantasized about this moment," Carlton said, smirking.

"I'm glad ruining my life lets you live out your dreams," Spencer said bitterly.

Carlton sighed, the feeling of guilt returning. "You were exposed as a fraud in front of the chief. I had no choice."

Spencer snorted. "So you're saying if the chief wasn't there, you wouldn't have arrested me?"

"Of course I would have," Carlton said, though he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

Spencer apparently heard it too. He sat up straighter in the chair, looking at Carlton intently. "So hypothetically, if you, and only you, had proof that I wasn't psychic, would you have arrested me?"

"It doesn't matter. That's not how it happened," Carlton said, trying to evade the question.

Spencer leaned forward in his seat. "Just answer the question," he said, his tone serious. "Would you have arrested me?"

Carlton opened his mouth to reply, then closed it as he realized he didn't know what his answer would be. Spencer had help close dozens of cases in his years at the department, some of which, if Carlton was being perfectly honest with himself, wouldn't have been solved without him. Arresting Spencer would definitely hurt the department's solve rate, allowing more criminals to wander the streets.

On the other hand, Spencer had broken the law. As an officer of said law, he had sworn to uphold it, even when doing so meant causing more harm than good. It took a damn good reason to make him break that solemn oath.

Was Spencer a good enough reason?

"I don't know," Carlton said finally.

"Huh." Spencer fiddled with his handcuffs, looking at Carlton strangely, as if he was a puzzle that didn't make sense. Carlton rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, unnerved by Spencer's quiet intensity.

The silence continued as neither man seemed to quite know what to say after Carlton's surprising admission.

Carlton sighed, finally breaking the silence. "Look, Spencer, we both know those FBI agents are working to get you out of here as we speak and they probably will succeed. So you can just sit there and keep refusing to answer my questions until that happens. There's nothing I can do to stop you." Spencer looked faintly surprised by his bluntness, but didn't argue the point. "That being said," he continued, "I've been putting my ass on the line for seven years following your leads. I think I deserve the truth." He met Spencer's gaze, waiting to see how the other man would respond.

Spencer studied him for a couple more moments before nodding slowly. "OK. What do you want to know?"

Glad to finally be getting some answers, Carlton started with the one question that had been praying on his mind the most recently. "Why did you do it?"

Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully. "I thought you would be more interested in finding out how I've been beating you all this time."

"I have a pretty good idea already," Carlton said smugly.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He leaned back in his chair with a smirk on his face. "OK, detective, let's hear what you've got."

"It wasn't hard to figure most of it out," Carlton said. "I have met your father. I know how much he wanted you to become a cop. He wouldn't have sat idly by while you were growing up. He would have pushed you towards it, taught you everything he could. Like reading a crime scene, tailing a suspect. Cheating a lie detector." He raised an eyebrow as he looked over at Spencer, who nodded his head sheepishly. "All the skills any good detective would need."

"It certainly made for an interesting childhood," Spencer said dryly. "But you're missing one thing."

"What's that?" Carlton asked.

Spencer smiled wryly. "My gift." He put his cuffed hands to his temple and closed his eyes, just like when he was having a fake vision. Carlton was about to protest, when Spencer started speaking. "Let's start with Vick's desk. To the right she has one of those box thingys half full of papers. A lamp and a phone is on the left along with yet another pile of papers. In the center of the desk is a blotter with three files sitting on it, one open. Along the front of the desk, from left to right, is a small American flag, a pencil holder, an intercom, her nameplate, another pencil holder, a stapler, that weird fish thingy I can never figure out the purpose of, a mail caddy thingy and a folded newspaper." As Spencer listed each item, Carlton cross-referenced it to his own memory of the desk. He was surprised to find he couldn't remember it in as much detail as Spencer appeared to.

Spencer opened his eyes, grinning at the look on Carlton's face. "I know what you're thinking. I've been in the Chief's office so many times, it wouldn't be that hard to memorize the layout of her desk. Let's return to the files, shall we. The open one describes a crime scene on," Spencer paused, brow furrowed in concentration, "Clydesdale Road, on the outskirts of town. Body discovered, probable homicide. There's a photo showing an overgrown lot with a warehouse in the distance. There are a group of police officer's gathered on the left hand side, probably where the body is located. I can't see much of the other files besides the names listed on them; Frank Cisco on the top one, Carlos Hernandez on the bottom one, which is considerably thicker by the way."

Carlton shook his head. Spencer had barely looked at the desk before discussion had turned to his fake psychic abilities and supposed FBI status, taking up all the man's attention. Unless he had seen the files previously, which with Spencer you could never rule out, it didn't seem possible he could remember all that information from a glance.

"Need more proof? I can do your desk too," Spencer said. He started listing all the contents of Carlton's desk, going drawer by drawer.

"All right, enough," Carlton said, cutting him off. He looked at Spencer in astonishment. "How did you remember all that?"

"My gift." Spencer pointed to his head. "I have an eidetic memory. Perfect recall." He grinned at Carlton. "I'm sort of like Rain Man without the greedy younger brother or social awkwardness. My hair is also way more awesome."

It would explain how Spencer could fake a vision after a single glance at a crime scene. It also explained how he could remember something days later that was completely irrelevant at the time but ended up being a crucial clue to the case. He really would have made a great detective. "Your mom said her memory worked like that, only with sounds," Carlton remembered suddenly. "I should have figured out yours would be something similar."

"You got the rest of it," Spencer pointed out. "So why didn't you ever go to the Chief with it?"

"It didn't prove you're not psychic. It just proved you didn't have to act like a jackass to solve crimes," Carlton said.

Spencer inhaled with a hiss. "Harsh, Lassie. Very harsh."

"So back to my question. Why did you do it?" Carlton asked.

Spencer shrugged. "You didn't really leave me a lot of choice. If I recall correctly, and with my memory you know I do, I told you the truth and you still planned on arresting me."

"Still, it would have been easy enough for you to explain your process, to prove what you can do. Especially with the Chief and your father being old friends," Carlton pointed out.

"Maybe," Spencer conceded. "But this way was a lot more fun."

Carlton rolled his eyes. Typically Spencer response. "Your dad knows, and I know Guster knows. Who else?" he asked, switching topics.

"A few of our clients figured it out along the way. Declan, but that was more of a mutual exposure." Spencer thought for a moment, then shrugged. "That's pretty much it."

"That's it?" Carlton pressed.

"Didn't I just say that?" Spencer asked. "Maybe you should get your hearing checked. It's nothing to be ashamed of at your age."

Carlton ignored the insult. He had noticed a small twitch to Spencer's eyes as he talked. If he hadn't been watching so closely, he would have missed it. Spencer was lying. Someone else knew, but he was covering for them. Who would he do that for?

He groaned as he realized the obvious answer. "You told O'Hara. Do you know what kind of trouble she could get into, hiding this from us?"

"You're the one jumping to the conclusion that she knows," Spencer said.

"Fine. Does she know?" Carlton asked.

"I promise I did not tell Juliet about my secret," Spencer said, holding his linked hands up to give a scout's oath. There were no signs of deception this time but Carlton was still convinced his partner knew. Maybe she found out on her own. She was living with Spencer, after all. It would be harder to hide his secret, interacting with someone so closely on a daily basis.

Carlton remembered suddenly how Spencer and O'Hara had broken up for a short time after his wedding. He would bet anything that was when she found out. O'Hara never could stand being lied to. Though it did beg the question why she took him back.

"If she did know, I bet she wouldn't be happy about it," Carlton said casually.

"Not happy would be an understatement. If she knew," Spencer said. He sighed, propping his head on one cuffed hand. "She doesn't like being lied to," he added quietly.

Carlton nodded, feeling a bit sorry for Spencer. If O'Hara's reaction in the Chief's office was anything to go by, he had a feeling the younger man was in for a rough few weeks.

He noticed Spencer rubbing his temples, wincing slightly. "How's the head?" he asked.

"Could be worse," Spencer said dismissively. "The tile cushioned the impact a bit. That was probably the softest landing I've ever had falling out of a ceiling." He smiled wryly at the detective.

Shaking his head, Carlton pulled out a penlight from his jacket as he stood up. Leaning over the table, he quickly looked at Spencer's eyes, checking his pupil response.

Spencer batted his hand away. "Hey! That's bright you know."

"That's the point." He pocketed the light, watching as Spencer blinked rapidly to clear away the spots in his vision. "You don't seem to have a concussion. Take some Advil and you'll be fine."

"Thanks Dr. Lassie. Whatever would we do without you?" Spencer asked sarcastically. "Oh, I know. I'd be able to see right now." He rubbed awkwardly at his eyes, making huge, exaggerated blinks.

Carlton snorted. "Quit being a baby. I just wanted to make sure you weren't about to collapse. Do you know how much extra paperwork that would cause me?"

"Well, we wouldn't want that," Spencer said with a smirk. "Admit it, you were worried about me."

"Spencer," Carlton growled. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He opened it to find McNab standing there. "What is it?" Carlton snapped.

"Gus insisted I bring this to Shawn. He said it was important," McNab said. He held up a small black bag.

"Fine," Carlton said. He stood aside and let McNab enter the room.

McNab walked quickly over to Spencer and handed him the bag. "Thanks, buddy," Spencer said.

"Sure thing, Shawn," McNab said. He glanced over at Carlton before leaning down towards Spencer. "Just so you know, I don't believe any of these lies about you not being a psychic. I know you're the real deal," he said, patting Spencer's shoulder encouragingly.

"Thanks man," Spencer said quietly, smiling up at McNab. Carlton saw a hint of unease in Spencer's eyes, probably from finally realizing those he would hurt if the truth became public knowledge. Luckily, McNab didn't seem to notice.

Carlton let McNab out and sat back down at the table. Spencer was staring at the bag, turning it over slowly in his hands. "You said you wanted proof, right?" he asked suddenly. He tossed the bag carelessly across the table. Carlton barely managed to catch it before it slid off the edge. "There's your proof."

Carlton examined the bag. It was cheap, made of black velvet similar to a bag from a jeweler. He glanced over at Spencer. The man was staring at the table, tracing a scratch with his finger. Carlton opened the bag and dumped the contents on the table.

A single black wallet fell out. Opening it, he saw it was an ID wallet. On the right was a badge for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. On the left, an ID for the same organization, picturing the man sitting across from him.

Special Agent Shawn Spencer.

Carlton examined the picture. Spencer looked a good deal younger, though he still had his trademark grin. Usually, you weren't allowed to smile for ID pictures, but he wasn't surprised Spencer had gotten around that. Apparently even in the FBI he had played by his own rules.

"Special Agent?" Carlton asked, looking up.

Spencer shrugged. "I was really good at my job."

Carlton continued to examine the badge, still trying to wrap his mind around the thought of Spencer as an agent, when a thought occurred to him. He looked up, eyeing Spencer suspiciously. "Don't you usually have to turn in your badge when you quit?"

"Yeah, about that." Spencer rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Carlton's stare. "I didn't exactly quit so much as take a really long vacation."

"You're telling me, this whole time, you've been an FBI agent? And never told anyone?" Carlton asked, voice rising until he was nearly shouting.

"It's not a big deal," Spencer said calmly.

"Of course it is!" Carlton said vehemently, standing up to tower over Spencer. "You were part of the greatest law enforcement agency in the greatest country on Earth. Do you know how much we could have accomplished if we had known you were an agent, the kind of resources we could have had access to? We could have solved our cases in half the time if you had just been upfront with us." He glared down at the man, wondering how such an irresponsible man-child had ever become an agent.

"Jealous Lassie?" Spencer asked with a smirk.

Carlton ignored that too accurate jib. He sat back down, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "Why the hell would you give all that up?" he asked once he was back under control.

"Oh, you know me. I got bored and decided to try something new," Spencer said.

Carlton looked at him incredulously. "You got bored? At the FBI?"

"They had all these rules. I'm not really a rule kind of guy," Spencer said.

Carlton had to agree with that. "Then why did you join in the first place?"

Spencer chuckled. "It was similar to what happened here. I got involved in a case and they threatened to arrest me. Except that time I told them the truth."

"What case?" Carlton asked, curiosity peaking.

"You know, a typical case. Crime and murder and whatnot," Spencer said evasively. "It's not important. It's over and done with. In the past. Nearly forgotten. Water under the bridge."

He acted unconcerned, but Carlton noted how Spencer wasn't meeting his eyes and his body posture was turning more defensive. Something about that case clearly made Spencer uncomfortable. Carlton filed it away for later before switching gears. "OK. How long were you working with them?"

"One year as a civilian consultant, doing kind of what I do here. Two years as an agent."

"Three years?" Carlton asked, surprised. He had for some reason assumed that this was another job Spencer had done for a few months before getting bored and quitting. Carlton did know his job history. But it seemed this time he stuck with it, making it the only job he had committed to besides Psych. "Why didn't you ever tell anyone?"

Spencer shrugged. "It's just a part of my life I don't like to talk about much."

"You told Gus about it," Carlton pointed out.

"But only Gus. No one else," Spencer said.

"Not even your father?" Carlton asked.

Spencer winced. "No. Though he's bound to find out soon. He's got spies all over this place." He groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Think it's too late to run off to Mexico?"

"You're in police custody. You're not going anywhere," Carlton reminded him.

"Then I guess I better hope he doesn't find out until I get out of here," Spencer said. He looked wistfully up at Carlton. "Things were going so well between us too."

"He wanted you to be a cop. He'll be thrilled you're an agent," Carlton said. He didn't understand why Spencer was getting so worked up over this.

"The only thing he'll concentrate on is that I left," Spencer said. "Another thing I committed to and bailed on. Another disappointment."

Putting it that way, Carlton could see Spencer's point. Henry could be incredibly harsh at times, even to his own son.

"So why did you leave?" Carlton asked again. He didn't for one second believe Spencer's earlier answer of 'being bored.'

"Let's just say, I became uncomfortable with some of the things going on and decided it was best if I had a change of scenery," Spencer said vaguely. Once again, he was refusing to meet Carlton's eyes.

Carlton was about to press for more details when the door to the interrogation room opened. He turned to yell at whoever was interrupting them, but stopped himself when he saw it was the Chief.

"Detective, a word," she said.

Carlton turned back to Spencer. The man grinned at him. "Don't mind me Lassie. I'm not going anywhere." He held up his cuffed wrists as proof.

"We're not finished here," Carlton said. Spencer just nodded and gave a little wave to the Chief as he exited the room.

Vick led the way into the observation room, closing the door behind them. She walked over to the window, watching Spencer. Carlton joined her.

"You left the handcuffs on him?" Vick asked.

Carlton snorted. "We both know he can get out of them any time he wants."

Vick sighed but didn't say anything about it. She continued to watch Spencer through the window. "It seems Mr. Spencer's FBI history has magically reappeared. The agents are looking into getting the charges postponed until after we finish the investigation."

"We're just going to let him keep working with us?" Carlton asked.

"The FBI insisted he be put on the case. I have no choice," Vick said.

"Of course they did," Carlton muttered. He leaned against the window frame, watching as Spencer struggled to get something out of his back pocket. He found it immensely entertaining until he saw what the item was. He cursed under his breath, vowing to install locks on all his desk drawers. Spencer proceeded to blow his nose on his tie, then tossed it into the trash can by the door. He raised his arms in victory when it made it in on the first try. The standards of the FBI must have dropped considerably if this was an example of one of their agents.

"He's good. His father was the same way. That's why I hired him in the first place," Vick said.

Carlton looked at her sharply. He had suspected Vick didn't buy Spencer's act, but this was the closest he had ever heard her come to admitting it.

Vick turned to look at him. "Did you get anything from him?"

"Enough for now," Carlton replied.

Vick nodded. "I'll let you know when I hear anything." She left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Carlton continued watching Spencer. He had picked up his badge and was examining it closely. He looked up suddenly, seeming to stare at Carlton through the glass. He put the badge down, then started fiddling with his handcuffs. A few seconds later, he placed them on the table as well. With a smirk, he leaned back in the chair again, propping his feet on the table.

Carlton shook his head. There was more going on here, something Spencer wasn't telling him. His answers about his past with the FBI were vague. Though he had opened up about his psychic charade, he was still very defensive about that part of his past. It was one of the few jobs he had ever committed to and the only job he had never told anyone about. The pieces just didn't make sense.

Carlton was determined to find out what Spencer was hiding.

* * *

**I'm still working out some case details, so I can't promise when the next chapter will be up. Plus the Thanksgiving story will be starting soon, which will take over much of my time.**

**I will try to get it up as fast as I can.**


End file.
